Artificial Life

In the wake
Of her little boats’
Meanderings,
Songs of the past
Chime and choke
Their way upwards
Undulating…
Poignant laughter.

These are the verses of ‘life’.
An oily, overheated,
Bloated
And elegant ‘if’;
A shattering composition of
Entanglement –
Beeps and pulses.
Yes.
These are the verses of ‘if’.

In the silence
Of her little boats’
Capsizing,
Songs of the past
Make their way upwards
Undulating…
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

For my Mother, Janice ~ may she finally rest in the peace of heaven

excellent

The moment comes at last, "and the rest is silence."

I send you, and the spirit of your mother, my sincere respect, born of the solidarity which only shared experience can forge.

I respect and honor the spirit of your mother for the suffering and liberation of that spirit, rising now victorious and strong; it is the spirit of struggle and of triumph. I respect you for being the midwife of that spirit as it struggled to be born anew and rise, for serving life by serving death, for honoring life by honoring death. You are both heroes now; the true heroes are those, like you, who live and die with dignity.

I am in unbreakable solidarity with you, and with anyone who experiences what I experienced with my own mother, and with my mother's mother.

Although it was 23 November 1998 when my mother passed from this world to the next--when we experienced death together, which is the most intense thing in life along with birth--her death, as her life, is always and only now.

Thank you, my dear friend. You are like a poem I wrote once, which I called "Midwife to the Birth of Now."

I salute a life well-lived, well-loved, well-celebrated.

I honor your mother as you honor her, and I honor my own mother as I honor you. The wheel turns, and life--and death, which is as much a part of life as birth--is beautiful.

Love and peace with respect and in solidarity,

+Stevie

Humm Hass sorry to hear this bad news... All I can say stay strong dearest friend...This is a delight, rare and beautiful, I feel as though I'm breathing in your words as I'm reading, and finding it hard to release. Truly captivating.


Far better than minerals gotten
Out of the depths of the earth,
Or jewels of regal splendor
And ostentatious birth
Is the singular role of a mother;
Indeed, there isn't another
Of distinctly nobler worth.

She scatters the seeds of gladness
With those of pain and sorrow,
In the fields of her fertile existence
For tender shoots of tomorrow;
There's nothing she wouldn't dare
To justify her care;
She'd even beg or borrow.

She gathers a bounteous harvest --
An outcome of courage and skill,
Through seasons of trials and errors
That never could smother her will;
A beacon in the overall plan,
She illumines the pathway of man --
A duty she's glad to fulfill.
misty